A Vicious Dosing Cup
by Fili
Summary: The order to evacuate the civilians from Minas Tirith has left Iniron, a young Tower Guardsman, despairing and afraid. But mum always knows what to say!Oneshot


_a/n: For Ellynn, who wanted more of Iniron. :)_

_March 1, __3019_

_By order, all noncombatants, being women, children, and elderly shall evacuate this City and the Pelennor, to be gone no later than sundown on the ninth of this month. Do they march south to sanctuary in Lebennin, and may the Valar keep them._

_Denethor II son of Ecthelion _

_26th Ruling Steward of Gondor_

0o0

The memory of the order reverberated through Iniron's head as he left the Citadel. It had finally come to that.

_Valar keep us all._ He had -- _everyone_ had known that it would come to this eventually. Since the appearance of Mordor's Black Captain, things had been getting steadily worse. Gondor was steadily loosing ground, and, especially of late, there had been an ominous feel in the very air. It seemed things were coming rapidly to the point where Men would either win or loose the fight for all time. But this order brought it home with horrible finality. No longer could anyone hope on a bright morning that maybe he had been mistaken, that he was reading too much meaning into the events that were taking place. It was all or nothing now, the fight for their very survival had begun.

Iniron paused outside the front door of his mother's home. He had grown up in this house, on this street. It had been as familiar to him as his own hands. Maybe more so; his hands had a way of growing mysterious scratches he could not remember getting. He looked up and down at all the houses, imagining what they would look like to invading Southrons.

_No!_ he shook his head. _We must not lose this fight. We must not. _

_And you think our chances of winning are..?_ his own voice asked him bitterly.

The door opened and he started out of his thoughts.

'Here you are! How long have you been standing there?' His mother opened the door wider and pulled him into a hug.

'Mum,' Iniron kissed her cheek and made a sorry attempt at a smile. 'Not long. I was just thinking.'

'Too much thinking isn't good for anybody. You know what your father always said; '''If you wonder too far, you'll get lost''.' Isteth smiled and stepped back into the house. 'Well, come in now and sit down, you must be tired after being on your feet all day, and supper is nearly ready,' she said, steering him into a chair and setting a mug of small beer on the table.

Iniron tipped the cup and watched the liquid as it swirled. 'Mum... you did hear of lord Denethor's order?'

Isteth turned to him, her face sobering. 'Of course I did. I don't believe there's a single person in the City or Pelennor who doesn't know. But you can't tell me it wasn't expected.'

'Well, no...' Iniron rubbed his thumb along the edge of the table. 'But expecting and actually hearing are different. I guess--I hoped it wouldn't come to this.' He blew a bitter sigh. 'Foolish, I know.' Iniron stared at the white line the edge of the table had put in his thumb. 'But mum, now that it's come to this, I can't help thinking: what happens if we loose and Minas Tirith is overrun?'

His mother opened her mouth to say something, but Iniron hurried on before she could. 'Mum... will you go with everyone to Lebennin? Please?'

Isteth pulled open the door to the little bake-oven in the side of the hearth and shoved a wooden paddle under a flatbread. She set it on a clean towel and closed the oven door before turning to face her son. 'Iniron, I work in the Houses of Healing for a reason. As long as you boys are out there fighting and getting yourselves hurt, I'm going to be right here patching you back together!'

'Mum, _I'm not_ fighting! I took the easy job, I'm beginning to think the _coward's_ job of being a Citadel Guard!' Iniron scrubbed his face with his hands. '_I_ can do nothing to help ensure that this City doesn't fall! And I couldn't bear it if we were breached and you were still here and got killed, while I'm standing in the Citadel, a useless peacock, unable to do _anything_ to keep you safe!'

Isteth gently touched her son's face. 'Son, your father and I were so proud of you when you recieved your appointment to your post. I am still proud, very proud of you. And I'm sure that your father is, too. Now listen to me: sometimes the most difficult jobs of all are the ones that bring no glory or danger with them. Those duties that seem to be for the faint-hearted, but are desperately important for the safety and success of what is right.'

'But mum, I'm not doing anything like that! I do nothing but play dress-up all day! I'm a decoration, nothing more.'

'Iniron, this is sounding like self-pity. You guard the Steward himself! If that isn't a needed role, then nothing is.'

Iniron sighed and bowed his head. 'I'm sorry. You are right, mum. It's just...'

She hugged him around the shoulders. 'I know. It is hard sometimes, not to despair of anything ever coming right in the world. It seems like nothing we do makes any difference. But all that is expected of us is to keep doing the best we can, and trust that is will help bring about change for the better. And you know I'm right!'

Iniron smiled a small smile. ' You're always right. I'll bet even if you weren't, you wouldn't admit it, would you?'

'You know better than to gamble, young man, it's a waste of money. But yes, I wouldn't admit it.' Isteth stepped away to stir the bean soup hanging over the fire.

'We've got off topic. Mum, I'd really feel better if you were somewhere farther away from here, somewhere safe,' Iniron said, rubbing his face again.

Isteth straightened up and smiled. 'The young private who informed me of the order said almost those exact words to me, and I'm going to tell you what I told him. I work in the Houses of Healing in the sixth circle of our City, and a safer place you'd be hard-pressed to find. Do you know why?'

Iniron shook his head in answer.

'The Houses are populated by those most dangerous of creatures; the Healers. All beings are in mortal terror of us. Children cry when we visit them, even grown men don't dare go against our orders. I daresay even our lord Denethor does what his healer tells him to do! Now just imagine one of those Southrons or even an orc dared show his no-doubt filthy face in one of our Houses. Before he could even draw the breath to continue on his unfortunately-chosen path, he would have a dozen healers bearing down on him, bidding him to be silent, to leave his weapons outside, and how dare he set foot in this House, look how dirty he is! and he would be wise to turn right around and march out, _quietly!_ And should he show even the slightest hesitation to follow those orders, he'd soon meet the most fearsome weapon imaginable: a dosing cup.'

Iniron started laughing at the thought of a cowering Southron warrior surrounded by grim-faced healers determinedly filling the loathed glass phials. It felt good to laugh, he hadn't had anything to laugh about in weeks.

Isteth brought two bowls of bean soup to set on the table, and on the way paused to kiss Iniron's forehead. 'Try not to worry too much about me, son. I am more formidable than I seem, I learned long ago to wield a positively _vicious_ dosing cup!'


End file.
